For a long while, I’ve wanted to merge beads with snake skin, but couldn’t find suitable reptile hide. The samples I came across were too brittle to withstand the flexing that occurs with bags. Recently I found a source of diamondback rattlesnake skin that’s both soft (for a snake, that is) and extremely durable, so it’ll stand up to use without cracking. It’s intended for boots and belts, so you can rest assured that it’s tough.

The bag measures 7″ x 10″ x 2″. As with all of my bags, this strap can be plain or dressed up. Perhaps a small beaded diamond with snake skin in the middle? Or some leather lace with large beads or other adornment? It’s up to you, so let me know.

Price: $950

Full view of the inside

Detail of the flap top

“Prayer indeed is good, but while calling on the gods,
a man should himself lend a hand.” ~Hippocrates

The ashes of a cremated infant barely fill the palm of an adult’s hand. Like the cinders in a cold campfire, they are soft to the touch, almost delicate, and when scattered on the mountain wind they drift like a faint gray cloud, carrying with them thoughts of a life that will never be fulfilled.

When our firstborn son left us, the word “burial” was never uttered. We knew what we had to do. We took him high into the Blue Ridge Mountains near our then-home in South Carolina and set his spirit free.

In the days that followed, we wrestled with previously unfathomable sorrow, searched for something or someone to blame, and were haunted by unanswerable questions. Our house was suddenly unfamiliar, our jobs meaningless, our lives as we’d known them gone. Again, we knew what we had to do. We headed west for the Rocky Mountains.

Through the ages, people have been drawn to mountains like iron filings to a magnet. To some, the high places are sanctuaries steeped in the sacred. Mt. Sinai in Egypt, Olympus in Greece and Fuji in Japan attract pilgrims seeking spiritual enlightenment and answers to hard questions others cannot address, answers unattainable in the day-to-day goingson down below.

Still others view mountains as a symbol of supreme effort. To reach a summit requires extraordinary physical and mental stamina, going beyond what’s considered normal human capability. At the same time, the mountain must be approached with respect and caution. Make a slight misjudgment and you fall; ignore the weather and you freeze to death, even in the dead of summer.

Because of the ease with which mountains can turn on you, many cultures have long viewed them as dangerous haunts of malevolent gods and demons, and places of holy terror.

One day, somewhere in Rocky Mountain National Park, on the side of a mountain I don’t remember the name of, I stared at the rivers and forests and valleys below. When you’re down there surrounded by it all, you can feel closed-in and small, able to see only what’s obvious and right in front of your face. But when you’re up high with a bird’s-eye perspective, the pieces fit neatly together, interlocking like a magical puzzle. River cleanly divides forest, forest runs thick and green up the mountain’s flank, then gives way to rock stretching toward the clouds. The pinnacle is a meeting place between heaven and Earth, the realm where the physical merges with the spirit world.

I realized then why I was in the mountains: I was searching for a way to ascend, trying to reach the little one whose imaginary cries I’d heard all those lonely, empty nights after he left us. As I sat there and cried, I knew I had gone as high as I could and that he was forever out of reach. That acceptance filled me with an emptiness so vast, so utter and deep that I’ve never been able to put it into words.

Mountains are the result of cataclysmic events: the breaking apart of the land, stresses mighty enough to move continents, eruptions that send ash into the sky, blocking the sun and darkening the days. Traumatic episodes shape our world and shake our lives. How we respond determines whether we’ll forever stand on bedrock or crumble into dust.

At the weakest moment in my life, I found the energy to stand when everything in me wanted to lie down and give up. Like mountaineers who get temptingly close to the summit only to be forced back down by dangerous conditions, I knew there would be another day, another chance to create life, and I had to live for that moment. Those days in the mountains had yielded bedrock after all, and it was time to start building a new life on that rock-hard foundation.

Today, we have two teenage sons, both enamored with the high country. I don’t get them into the mountains as much as I’d like, but the seed has been planted in both. That’s all it takes to breed a lifelong fascination and respect for all things mountainous. And even though my aging body won’t let me go as high as I once did, I still venture into the hills whenever I can because there I’m reminded of how delicate life is, how bad times can turn good, and how memories of a son forever live on the mountain wind.

A variation of this story appeared in Backpacker Magazine.

The designs are inspired by nature, wild lands I’ve visited and events in my life. Each bag comes with a creation story because I think it’s important that you know how it came about.

If you have any questions or comments, please don’t hesitate to get in touch. There are areas all over the site where you can leave your thoughts, or use the contact information link to the left.

The name “beaded buffalo” comes from the fact that most of the bags have real buffalo fur backs. No bison are killed solely for these bags. I look for leather that’s left over from other uses, so you might say I’m recycling it.

The wall hanging shown at right gave rise to my bag making. While on a trip to South Dakota, I had seen the design painted on a buffalo robe. When I returned home, I went to Tandy Leather, bought a piece of deer hide and made a much smaller version. I deeply enjoyed the feel of leather, so I bought more pieces and started crafting small bags. I don’t remember what triggered the transition from wall art to bags, but this piece still hangs in my den.

One day while sitting on a hill in South Dakota’s Wind Cave National Park, watching a herd of bison graze down below, I wondered if there was anything stronger than a buffalo’s heart. To withstand the brutal, unforgiving high plains winters and the near-extinction of its kind, the critter’s heart must be laced with iron and granite. That thought inspired this design.

The bag measures 10″ x 7,” has a soft-fur back, partially beaded strap, and full-coverage front flap to protect the bead work. Price: $950    

I’d been tinkering with small bags for a while — none bigger than your hand — when I decided to try something larger. Increasing the size by a few inches would have been the wise thing to do, but I jumped to a bead panel that wound up measuring 8″ x 14″. Besides the size, the design was overly complex and far more ambitious than a newcomer should attempt. That explains the innumerable mistakes and crudeness of the final product.

Nevertheless, this mutt is still my favorite. It has a comfortable, well-worn quality and hangs in a prominent spot in my workspace, reminding me that when you set foot on a new path, you never know where it might lead.

My grandfather was a snake man. He possessed a deep love and fascination for all things that slithered, and would without hesitation bend over and pick up any snake he came across. Once, he kept a boa constrictor in his house to hold down the mouse population down, and at a company picnic, he chased after a large king snake while the rest of his business associates were lining up for food. 

As a child, I remember staring up in wide-eyed amazement at a very large copperhead skin that hung in his living room. It now hangs in my work space, and this design came about one afternoon after sitting and staring at it, and remembering those glorious days of my youth when my grandfather introduced me to the ways of the natural world.  

The strap can be modified to suit. For instance, one or more beaded diamonds can be added, or perhaps you’d prefer a thin slice of elk antler tied to the strap with strips of leather lace (similar to the cover flap). 

Then again, maybe you’d like a smaller version of this bag with fewer diamonds. Please contact me and we’ll talk about your planned uses for the bag.  

Price: $1000 for this large one 

It was the most physically and mentally demanding challenge I’ve ever faced. The steep, thin, crumbling trail clung precariously to the sheer canyon walls (to avoid crowds, we chose a route less traveled and the barely-discernable path reflected the lack of use.) Plus I was in less-than-peak physical condition , having just had a cast removed from my left arm and no time to get back into shape. As a result, the extreme elevation gain and loss had my legs and lungs screaming the whole trip.  

All of which probably accounts for the jagged lines and step-like patterns you see. The colors reflect those of the canyon, and there’s even a ribbon of blue to represent the Colorado River, which we camped beside for several nights. 

In the end, I don’t know of many things I’m as proud of, and know that trip was one of life’s true tests.

The bag measures 7″ x 9″, has a fully beaded strap, and is made of soft, creamy elk that’s both light and very pleasing to the touch.

Price: $750 

Strap detail

The other one was made about 15 years ago, and I have no idea where the idea came from. I do know that the piece of wood came to me with a face-like shape at the end. I added the little horns and eyes, and shaped the nose a bit, but what you see here is fairly close to the piece I found in the woods.